


A Winter Without You

by bellemon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Gen, Rape, Sibling Incest, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellemon/pseuds/bellemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps Jaime should learn to love his lady wife, but all he sees when he looks at her is a child, a lesser version of Cersei. AU where Jaime managed to escape Riverrun, set directly after Clash of Kings. Quite a bit of angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tyrion I

**Author's Note:**

> Kay so this will be quite a mature story that involves rape, suicide attempts, and abuse, all underage. So if this sort of things disturb you, I recommend that you click the 'back' button and never look at this story again.

He is late. He knows he is late because the impatient way Cersei and Tywin are looking at him, and there’s also the fact that Tywin called him at noon and it’s already dusk.

“Father,” he says, bowing slightly. “Cersei. Why have you called on me?”

“Sit,” his father hisses through his teeth. _Woops. It might seem that I’ve really angered him this time_

Tyrion sits.

“Those bloody Tyrells mean to make a fool of me,” Tywin says, wasting no time.

Tyrion frowns. “What?”

“Littlefinger has informed me of a Tyrell plot to give the Stark girl to the cripple,” Cersei says, eager to inform.

 “They mean to request that they bring her to Highgarden, and then wed her to Willas Tyrell,” Tywin elaborates.

Tyrion raises a brow. “Is that so? They’d be a good enough match. Quite a sight to behold. Sansa is quite the beauty, and a sweet young girl. She’ll take to him fondly enough. What’s the problem?”

Cersei rolls her eyes. “I told you he wouldn’t understand, Father.”

Tywin sends her a look. “Be quiet,” he then turns to Tyrion. “Sansa Stark is the heir to the north. If the Tyrell’s take her, they take the north.”

“It might seem that I am the only one who has not forgotten about the fact that Sansa has a brother,” Tyrion says. “He’s about this tall, with red hair and blue eyes, and he wins every battle he fights. You might recall him if you try.”

“I have no patience for japes right now, Tyrion,” Tywin snaps. “Robb Stark’s alliance with the Freys has been broken by his marriage to Jeyne Westerling. The Karstarks have all withdrawn their forces, due to the fact that their Liege is short a head. The King in the North’s days are numbered.”

Tyrion sighs tiredly. “Why don’t you just keep her from going to Highgarden?”

_These ridiculous plots are starting to tug at my nerves._

“The Tyrells will take it as a slight,” Tywin replies, in his usual bored tone. “No, there is a better solution for this.”

Cersei and Tyrion both perk up. _So he hasn’t told her yet._

“What might that be?” Tyrion asks.

“This situation has brought to my attention that Sansa Stark is, indeed, ripe and ready for plucking. She’s a highborn maid, flowered and innocent. She’ll be needing a match soon enough,” he replies. “A _Lannister_ match.”

_Oh no. Could he mean what I think he means?_

Cersei must be thinking along the same lines, too, because she’s staring at Tyrion with something like amusement in her eyes.

_No. Please no._ “Winterfell is burned,” he says. “She is heir to nothing.” _Not me. Not me._

“Castles can be rebuilt,” he replies simply.

“Okay, then,” Cersei says. “Who do you mean to wed her to?”

Tyrion sits there, waiting for the bomb to drop. _I’ll tell him that I can’t. That I don’t deserve such a pretty young maid. He’ll agree and wed her to Lancel in my stead._

“Jaime,” he says.

“Father, I can’t wed her! She’s too young - and I don’t deserve her- and it’s too- wait what?” The feeling of relief that clenches his heart is short-lived when he realizes that Jaime isn’t even here.

Cersei jerks as if she’s been slapped. “Father, no!” she yelps. “How can Jaime wed her? He’s a Kingsguard – and captured by Robb Stark, besides!”

_Not so funny to you now, is it, sister?_

“He’s escaped,” Tywin says. “With the help of Cleos Frey. He’s on his way to King’s Landing at this very minute, only two days away if my sources tell me true. And I’m sure he can be excused from the Kingsguard. You can thank the incident with Ser Barristan for that.”

“Even if Jaime does wed the girl, the Northerners will not serve the Kingslayer,” Tyrion cuts in

“Trust me. After having a bellyful of those ridiculous Ironborn, they’ll be willing to followanyone _,”_ Tywin says. “Especially a child whelped by Ned Starks first born daughter.”

“No!” she exclaims. “I’m the _Queen._ And I _command_ that Jaime stays in the Kingsguard. My son needs all the Lannister loyalists he can get.”

“The King has no more need of you,” Tywin snaps. “After His Grace’s wedding, I’ll be sending you to Casterly Rock until we can find you a man to wed. I think Willas Tyrell would be a good candidate for that.”

“What? No! I’m _his mother!_ ” she yells. “And I will not _wed_ again, especially not to a cripple!”

“An heir,” Tywin corrected. “And you _will_ wed if I command it.”

.”I am the _Quee-“_

“YOU’RE _MY DAUGHTER!”_ Tywin yells, standing up so fast that his chair collapses backward. “You _will_ wed who I wish you to wed. You _will_ leave King’s Landing after your son’s wedding, and Jaime _will_ wed the Stark girl. The king will announce the betrothal on the morrow when he sets her aside for Margaery Tyrell, and Jaime will renounce his vows when he returns.  It’s about time that we put those disgusting rumors about you and your brother to rest!”

Tywin kicks his chair out of the way and leaves, dismissing them with a flick of his wrist.


	2. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is informed + an encounter with our favorite psychopath

Sansa I

 

Sansa sits on the window seat in her bedchamber, staring down at the passing people and nibbling on her olive bread. Her back and legs are raw from her previous beating, and every time she moves her new sores scream out in pain.

The only thing stopping her from jumping out the window and just ending it all is the fact that she knows it’ll all be better soon. Margaery will request her presence in Highgarden, and she will be wed to Willas Tyrell, away from King Joff, Queen Cersei and the meaty hands and sharp sword-swings of the kingsguard.

The blood from her wounds has dried away, but they still haven’t scabbed over yet and every time she moves her back, her dress rubs against it and brings tears to her eyes. She quickly dries them with the heel of her hand, though. She doesn’t wish for anyone to walk in and see her cry.

This beating was worse than the others. There was no one there to save her from him aside from Joffrey’s eventual boredom, and he’d ordered one of his kingsguard to dump her into her bed. She was in too much pain to pay attention to who it was, but she expected it to be one of the nicer ones, because he whispered ‘I’m sorry’ in her ear before he left.

Maybe it was Ser Loras. _No. Ser Loras wasn’t there, or else he would have stopped it._

But, sometimes, she wondered. None of the other Kingsguard who she had practically worshipped before her beatings started had ever stopped it. Not even Ser Arys – or the Hound.

Everything she had once known was a lie.

Ser Loras or not, when she was in bed, she’d shakily stripped away the remaining bits of fabric left of the lilac silk that she had walked into the throne room with, and called for a basin of water and a cloth.

She’d tried to wipe away the blood from her back and the back of her legs, but after yelping in pain more than once, Brella, her maid, had finally had enough and called for the Grand Maester.

He gave her milk of the poppy, and as her eyes drooped, he’d washed her wounds and spread some kind of balm over her back and legs.

She was asleep by the time he  
was done, and when she woke the next morning Brella had told her that the Grand Maester had said that she needed to take a bath to wash away the residue of the balm. He’d also prescribed as little movement as possible (as not to reopen them) and a lot of rest.

And so, she is now sitting at the window seat, staring out at the gardens in the Red Keep. There is quite a lot of hustle on the castle grounds, now that the Tyrells have arrived.

She finds herself wishing for Margaery’s company. It feels so lonely in her empty bedchamber.

But she feels too weak to walk, and it is not her place to order Margaery’s presence.

She knows that Joff is going to set her aside for Margaery soon – Brella told her of it while she was brushing Sansa’s hair. She’s still unsure how to feel about it. Of course she is excited that she’ll never have to deal with Joff again, but she doesn’t want Margaery to have to wed him and suffer either.

She jumps when the door suddenly opens, and turns to see Queen Cersei walk into her bed chamber, flanked by Ser Loras and Ser Meryn. She flushes and straightens, swallowing the bread without finishing the process of chewing.

It sticks in her throat, and she has to swallow it twice more for it to go down completely. It leaves a strange ache in her chest.

“Your Grace,” she stands and curtsies, but winces at the pain in her legs.

Ser Loras turns his head away, but Ser Meryn stares straight ahead, unfeeling.

“Lady Sansa,” she practically growls.

Sansa pales at her tone. _What have I done?_

“Please, sit,” Cersei orders, motioning at the window seat. Sansa slowly lowers herself onto the window seat, gulping a third time to make sure her words don’t catch in her throat.

“Your Grace, it is an honor to have you here,” she says smoothly. _Courtesy is a lady’s armor._ “You have need of me?”

Cersei motions for the Kingsguard to leave, and Loras gives her one last remorseful look before he exits the room. The queen sets herself next to Sansa on the window seat before she begins.

“You’ll be joining us in the Great Hall for dinner tonight. His Grace is finally going to set you aside for Lady Margaery,” Cersei says, jumping straight to the point.

Sansa holds back a sob of relief, bowing her head. “I – I’m very regretful of that, Your Grace…I cared for His Grace very much…but I’m a traitor’s daughter, and the King deserves much better.”

“Oh, stop that. You’re a terrible liar I know you’re glad of it. You’ll have to lie a bit better then you did just now, though. I will not suffer my son being embarrassed by your excitement to be away from him,” Cersei says. She scans Sansa critically, before smiling in a way so sickly sweet that Sansa begins to feel ill. “I’ll let your happiness slide, however. You’ll be my good sister soon enough.”

Sansa’s reply dies in her throat. _Good sister?_ “Huh?” she manages to croak, forgetting all her courtesies.

“Well, you’ve flowered. We can’t let such a pretty little dove like yourself be wasted,” Cersei purrs. _She’s a Lannister. A true lioness. Never forget that, no matter how sweet she smiles or how lovely her words._ “His Grace will announce your betrothal to my sweet brother at dinner tonight.”

_Tyrion._

She can feel bile rising to her throat.

“Your brother?” she practically squeaks.

_No. I don’t want to wed a Lannister. No, no, no. This must be some kind of jape._

Cersei smirks. “Yes. My lovely twin brother. He’ll have to set his vows aside for you, but no matter.”

_Twin. Twin brother. Twin twin twin twin._

The words fly about her head like leaves in the wind. _She means the Kingslayer. The man who had my father’s men killed. The man that killed the king he swore to serve._

And suddenly, relief grasps her heart. Not because Jaime Lannister is beautiful. Not because he is the fierce white knight of her dreams. Not even because she’s marrying him and not his brother.

It is because Jaime Lannister is Robb’s captive, which means that Jaime Lannister cannot wed her anyway. She has time to flee the capitol with Dontos, before the wedding. She sighs in relief. _It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay._

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” she says, and she hopes that relief will pass for ecstasy.

The queen scans her face suspiciously. “Don’t be too excited,” she says. “A grown man with sexual desires such as he will not be appeased by such an innocent young girl such as you. Especially after being in captivity for so long. He will not make love to you, sweet little dove. He will _fuck_ you for all the fucks he was unable to receive while in irons.”

“He’s a kingsguard,” Sansa says. “He…he hasn’t lain with a woman for so long anyway.”

But the more she thinks on it, she wonders if it is true. She has heard the rumors of Jaime and Cersei and their incestuous relationship.

Cersei throws her head back and laughs. “So innocent,” she says, before standing up and walking away.

Sansa’s eyes lower to the ground. _Yes. Too innocent for this world. This cruel jape of a world._

“Oh, and Sansa,” Cersei says, stopping at the door. Sansa looks up at her, blue eyes silently asking.

“See you at dinner,” she gives her one last sickeningly sweet smile.

Sansa stares after her long after she is gone.

 

8-8-8

 

Sansa sleeps the rest of the day away, waking only to take her noon time meal before going back to sleep.

When it comes time to get ready for the dinner with the Lannisters, she calls for a bath of warm water and sits there until it is icy cold.

Sansa remembers snowball fights with Robb and Arya and, sometimes, even Theon. She remembers having red ears and red cheeks and a red nose from the cold. She remembers giving her first kiss to Theon, her back embraced by the summer snow.

_Winterfell is gone now. So are Bran and Arya and Theon. Me and Robb are the only ones left._

She doesn’t realize that she is sinking into the water until her face is already under. Sansa has a strange sense of being at home in the cold, and she stares up at the ceiling through the water.

She closes her eyes, wanting to rest them. Just for a little while…

She gasps as Brella yanks her from the bathtub, screaming at her about how she doesn’t know what she’s doing and does she want to die and how she isn’t some sort of fish, no matter how Tully she looks.

Sansa just coughs and steps out of the bath, taking the towel that Brella gives her and drying her hair.

Brella helps her into her small clothes, shift and corset and is combing her hair when there is a knock at the door. Brella answers the door and Sansa watches the exchange using the mirror.

It Is Podrick Payne, the Imp’s squire. His cheeks redden furiously when he sees her in a simple shift, but Sansa is too busy looking at the box he is holding to notice.

“L-lord Tyrion sent me here. The Imp. He told me to give this to you. To wear. For dinner,” Podrick stutters. It occurs to Sansa that he is as scared of her as she is of him. He always stutters and becomes red when he talks to her. “It’s a dress. One of Her Grace’s old ones, I think.”

“Tell him he has my thanks,” she says. “And that I am most grateful for his gift, undeserving as I am.”

Podrick nods. “Yes. I will. Tell him, I mean. That you are grateful, undeserving as you are – not that _I_ think that you are undeserving, my lady, but…” he reddens and nods, handing over the box. “Here.”

He flees without saying goodbye.

Brella turns around, giving Sansa a strange look before setting the box on the bed. Sansa stands up too look as the other opens it, and they both stare at the contents.

It’s a dress, just as Pod told them, but Brella gasps as if surprised all the same.

The maid picks it up by the sleeves and lifts it out of the box by the shoulders.

It is a nice dress. Silk, as most southron dresses are, and Lannister crimson, as expected. It’s sleeves are long and open, and it has golden flowers embroidered from the bottom of the skirt to the waist, twisting around the bottom of the dress like a snake.

Sansa has a strange feeling building up in her throat. She feels like the dress is a brand that reads ‘Lannister Property’ in block capitals.

_I’m a Stark. I always will be. No matter what they brand me, no matter if they drape a lion around my shoulders, I will always be a wolf._

Brella lays the dress out on the bed, and Sansa is about to turn away, but then Brella says “What’s this?” and reaches back into the box, pulling out a piece of paper and what looks to be a necklace.   _Yes, a Lannister brand with a collar to match._

She hands the paper over to Sansa without reading it, but Sansa gets a sense of curiosity and knows that Brella wants to know what it says.

 

_Welcome to the family, Lady Sansa. I know it is not the marriage that you want, but if you can woo him, he’s all yours._

_Yours sincerely, your faithful good brother._

_P.S. I hope you like the dress and necklace. They are very important to my family. It may help my father warm up to you._

Sansa is suddenly taken over with a bout of anger. _Is this some kind of jape?_

Her soft, pale hands are a blur as she tears the note up and tosses the pieces into the fire.

“Brella,” she turns to the gaping maid. “Could you braid my hair like they do in the north?” _Just to remind them that I am a Northerner, and always will be, no matter what they dress me in._ She nods, jaw still slack with surprise, and Sansa sits down to let her fix her hair. When she is down with the simple Northern braid, she takes the necklace and hangs it around Sansa’s neck.

Her teeth clench when she sees that the pendant is a carefully crafted ruby lion, set in a gold oval, but she manages to refrain from tearing away the necklace and tossing it out the window. “It’s so pretty,” Brella says in awe.

_There has never been a prettier leash than this,_ Sansa wishes to reply. Instead, she says “It is.”

She stands up. “I suppose I should get into my dress now. I don’t want to be late.”

In no time, Brella is lacing up the dress and Sansa is stepping into her shoes.

“You look wonderful,” Brella says as they both look at her in the mirror.

_I look like a lion._

She stares at herself in the mirror, wishing so badly that she could just tear the dress from her back and throw it into the flames like she did with the note that Tyrion sent. She still feels sore from the beating she received yesterday, but not as bad as she did this morning, and she still moves as little as possible as not to stretch the scabs that have built over them.

And that is when the second knock on the door sounds, making both of the girls in the room start. Brella walks away to answer the door, and Sansa turns to look at the person at the door. Her breath catches when she sees that it is King Joffrey.

“Lady Sansa,” he says in his stupid smug voice with a smirk on his stupid worm lips.

“Y-your Grace,” she stammers, turning around and giving him a curtsy. Her legs scream out in pain, but she keeps her mouth tightly shut. “I was just about to leave for dinner.”

“Good. I’ve come to escort you,” he says, smirk widening. “I’d like to have a word with you before I have to set you aside, just to clear things up.”

Sansa swallows, her throat suddenly dry as bone. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

“Yes, yes. Be a bit quicker about it. I do not wish to be late on the account of a traitor’s daughter,” he snaps.

Sansa regrets being unable to push him off the bridge. _If it weren’t for the Hound’s intervention, he would be dead. I would be dead, too. But at least I wouldn’t be in this situation. I should have moved faster._

Bile rises in her throat as she loops her arm through his, and she shakes slightly as they leave the room. _Be brave, like Robb._

“I’ll be setting you aside today, Sansa,” Joff says as they begin to walk down the hall.

“I’m very regretful of that, Your Grace,” Sansa replies. “But it…it’s no less then what a traitor’s daughter deserves.”

Joffrey looks at her face as if to gauge the amount of truth on it. Sansa maintains an emotionless mask, even though her heart is hammering and her mind is screaming with fear.

He turns away, and Sansa releases a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“You’ll be wed to my uncle,” he says. “The Kingslayer.”

Sansa gulps. _Careful, now. He’s pushed you onto a patch of rotten ice, thinking that you can’t swim._ “As grateful as I am to be wedding such a renowned knight, Your Grace, no one could _ever_ replace you.”

_Please, believe it._

Joffrey grins triumphantly. “Of course, it wouldn’t _be_ a replacement,” he says. “You’ll _always_ have me.”

_What?_ Sansa gives him a confused look. “Your Grace?”

“My uncle Jaime will give you to me whenever I wish it,” Joff says in that stupid squeaky voice of his.

“You’re to marry Margaery!” she snaps, fear and anger flaring as she forgets her courtesies.

Joff gives her a smirk. “I’m the King. The King can have any woman that he wants and, Lady Sansa…” he grabs her chin with his free hand and turns her head sharply to face him. “I. Want. _You.”_

He gives her a peck on the lips and grins at her look of disgust. Sansa tears away from him, stumbling backward and bracing herself against the wall.

“I….you…” she breathes. _Don’t touch me._ She wants to hike up her skirts and flee him, but she knows he’ll catch her.

Joff simply gives her a smug smile and grabs her around the waist, pulling her to him. “Come on now, my dear good-aunt,” he says. “We don’t want to be late.”

The rest of the journey goes on in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone have any guesses as to what's so special about the dress & necklace?   
> There's a hint in the note XD.   
> Jaime chapter next - it's a bit of a filler though. I hope it's not too short.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise that the next chapter will be longer - and in Sansa's POV. I'm going to try and keep this story to a POV limit of Sansa, Jaime, and the mystery character, but there will be those chapters once in a while that consist of Tyrion, Cersei, maybe Podrick so on and so forth.


End file.
